The Story of Godric
by cadeeo
Summary: Ever wondered where Godric is from and why Eric loves him so much? I did, so I came up with this. Godric tells his tale as the centuries flow by him.


**The Story of Godric**

Author: Cadeeo

A/N: Even though I generally like writing Southern Vampire more than True Blood, Godric stole a special place in my heart and he hasn't been able to leave. Imagine my surprise when I found out that Allan Hyde was in fact Danish (I'm Danish, but don't let my foreignness scare you from reading. I spent ten months in Texas and I'm very, very fluent in English) and then I instantly knew that it was about time my Danish history lessons should come into good use. I present you with the end result. Enjoy. Rated R for mild sexual situations.

I was born in what today is called Scandinavia, more specifically Denmark or very close to it. Not many lines were drawn so long ago and I have not managed to find my birthplace since the fall of the Byzantine Empire. The land was beautiful back then, wild in its beauty and harsh in its appearance. I still remember it very clearly. It stands as clear as day and though I have not seen the daylight in over two thousand years, the green fields of Denmark still stands out in my memory as the full moon stands out clearly every month.

I was born the second son of a warrior family, a family of three children, all boys. My older brother was sickly and would not be able to secure our family's future, so the responsibility fell on me, a responsibility I did not enjoy. I enjoyed simple things such as war and the mindlessness of killing. I was celebrated by women and earned the respect of my elders in war times, but was looked down upon during times of peace because my desire to cause harm and pain kept me from enjoying such simple things as loving a woman and raising children. Even with these faults, I earned my tribal tattoos (signs of how much harm I had been the cause of) and I wore them with pride for years, even after my death and resurrection.

When I had seen sixteen winters come to pass, I fell into a trap while hunting alone and was taken as a slave to four brutal men and a woman who had deserted Spartacus the Slave's rebellion to live a vile and godless life in the north. The woman in particular had an eye for me and enjoyed ordering me to pleasure her. I was reluctant and therefore all our encounters left me with pains for days. I longed to fight back, but I was no match for former slaves who enjoyed their freedom and had forgotten how it felt to be slaves themselves. I have felt nothing but contempt for them ever since. I have seen many pathetic humans in my long existence, but I have never felt such strong feelings as towards those who caused me pain as a human myself.

One night, I had had a lucky break and held the woman at knifepoint, but she was nourished and full-grown, while I was still a boy, a battle-hardened man, but looking back, I was nothing but a boy. She quickly had me disarmed and called for the men who tied me from my arms on the branch of an old oak. They took of my clothes and I froze in the cold Scandinavian winter. My eyelashes froze together and my toes and fingers turned black from frostbite.

I do not remember being turned, but I do remember waking up, feeling warm, unbelievably strong… and hungrier than I had ever felt before. I opened op my eyes and saw my maker. She was a woman, a beautiful Arabic beauty with pearly white teeth, big brown eyes and hair the colour of hazelnuts. She was touching my lips and ran her fingertips over my newly grown fangs.

'Wake, my beautiful child,' she whispered and in very accented Scandinavian-Germanic. For many centuries, the Scandinavian languages resembled the much more rough Germanic language, before it grew to become it's own languages. I understood her, but only because my hearing had piqued and I could hear things much more clearly now. 'What is your name?'

'Hjorik,' I replied, my voice raspy. For someone not speaking the Danish language or the languages resembling that, my name would be impossible to pronounce right and when my maker tried to repeat it, it became Godrik instead.

'I am Nasmah,' my maker said. 'You have been turned to become a warrior of the night. You are hungry, so you must feed soon or you will be weaker.'

She took me to the former slaves camp and allowed me my revenge. I drank the blood of the woman first. Her vein looked so beautiful and inviting and I could smell her fear. I delighted in her screams of pain and found myself becoming painfully aroused. It was not her, but the sweet blood that came from her. I had never been attracted to woman before, had never found their touches exiting and it was certainly not the woman attractiveness that made me want her. I discarded her body when she was dead and wiped my mouth before I pounced on the men. I tore into them, both sexually and painfully, feeling myself become stronger my every drop of their blood I swallowed. Their blood was power. I had never been this alive before.

Nasmah gave me a satisfied and lusty look when I had sat down between the bodies, now dead and gone, and let me away to teach me the ways of the vampires.

We did not have a name for ourselves back then, but we were generally referred to as the creatures of the night or Hell's disciples, something we gladly lived up to.

Nasmah had been a Greek slave, a former Arabic princess who had been freed to live in the night by her strange, yet very desired master. When Greece had become Roman, her maker had saved her from death, by giving his own life to the sun. Like he had wished, she had escaped Athens with three other vampires who had since then been her brothers and sister. They had been in northern Europe for nearly forty years before they had stumbled upon me and Nasmah had taken pity on me. They were relatively young, but like most vampires they were smart and knew how to survive the world without much trouble. Only two of them live today, but I will forever remember how they all loved me and how we protected each other.

My maker loved me deeply and desired me even more, but I could not love her the same way she loved me. I felt nothing but a child's love for their mother for her or a brother's affection towards her. I worried why I was so different and why I couldn't desire her, but Nasmah knew me better than I knew myself and told me there was no shame in desiring men. Creatures like us had no social limitations as the humans did and no need to procreate with a person from the other sex to continue our race. We were free to fuck whatever we liked and Nasmah said it would be cruel if she continued to enforce her powers over me to make me desire her. I was free.

We had arrived in Rome only days before, and already it had proved to be more than I had ever dreamed. I had only ever lived in the wilderness, only ever lived as a savage, but Rome was civilised and clean cut. It was wondrous to discover the pleasures of civilised life and what was best of all (I thought that time) was its nightlife. Rome had become a centre for creatures like me and Nasmah, not unlike what New Orleans is post the Great Revelation. Our kind had streets to live in as they pleased and subject had been glamoured to protect us at day. Stories were told of these streets and very few dared to go close. It was a vampire haven where we could sate ourselves with the passion of humans and the sweetness of their rich blood.

I befriended Julius Caesar by accident, but never for once regretted it. I fought in his Germanic wars alongside my brother Ocella and Caesar used us as scouts at night to frighten the enemy. We pillaged villages as we liked and still Caesar praised us as Gods and handed us silver and gold. His men never understood his fascination with us and not even Caesar understood what he had. Ocella and I bed him in turn, but Ocella quickly grew tired of one man and continued his relentless pursuit of two of Caesar's centurions and so I had Caesar for my myself. I loved him in my own way, but I never stopped Brutus from murdering him. It was not my place to interfere with human affairs and Nasmah had disappeared to Egypt to fight for Marc Anthony and Cleopatra. I left with Augustus and Nasmah and I faced off in a friendly fight in Alexandria. I won because I had always been the better and smarter fighter and she was not grieved.

Around the year 900, Nasmah and the coven left for Asia, but I had no wish to leave for those adventures just yet. Once again I set my eyes towards the north and returned to Denmark with the Vikings currently pillaging the Mediterranean. More people had sought north after the Romans made it part of their empire and the people who had already resided there had become more civilised and they had established trading routes… as well as pillaging routes, of course. I did not like how civilised they had become and often enjoyed myself with putting families against each other so they would fight each other to the death. I perfected the art of glamour and used it to stay longer in areas less populated. I found the need to kill had lessened and I needed less blood than in my younger vampire days. That did not stop me from killing the occasional human, particularly men, whom I enjoyed first and then on the waves of pleasure drained. I found this was my favourite way of killing. Not many women held my interest and I barely looked twice on any of them. I could see how they would be attractive to other men, but I could not enjoy the soft curves of them. For me there was nothing like pressing a man's front against my own chest and feeling their weight on me or under me.

Maybe I had become lonely after having lived with Nasmah and the coven for so long, but I could feel myself wishing for someone to be by my side always, like my second brother Artemis had his child and Nasmah had me. I wished for that link with someone, someone who would love me, though vampires rarely loved. I knew I could never sire a woman and it did not bother me.

Then one night, my eyes landed on him fighting for his life amidst a battle and suddenly I knew why Nasmah loved me, though I could not make love to her. He was magnificent and godlike. He was Balder, the son of Odin and the god of light. The fires from the surrounding burning houses illuminated him and I could see how much he enjoyed the fight. He was not unlike me before I turned. Except he was passionate where I had been cold. He was in love with the fight where I had found pleasure in it. I loved him instantly.

The fight had died down when I rose the next night and I sought him out. He was standing guard alone in the periphery of the Viking camp. He was tall, but I only had to look in his eyes once to enthral him. I led him further away from the camp and laid him on the grass so I could touch every part of him and commit him to my memory. He was so beautiful and responded so well to my touch. He was so full of desire even though his mind was not his own. When I felt the sun approaching, I left him, but decided to go back the next night and turn him. I could not leave him to a mortal life when I could feel him being destined for so much more.

The enemy attacked the camp the next night, right before sundown, rendering me unable to come to his aid. His friends fought beside him, yet he took a knife to his side, a jab that would shortly cost him his life. I had to act quickly and turn him before the wound would make him less adequate as a vampire. I killed his friends and spoke to him in his own language, old Swedish, asking him to join me in the night, every night for the rest of our existence. When I tasted him, I tasted the nectar of gods. It flowed richly in my mind and went to my brain. I had never tasted anything more exquisite and to this day, I have still not tasted anything exactly like it. I would have preferred his turning to be done during the throes of passion (Artemis had confided in me, this was how his own child had been sired and he had yet to experience a more pleasant time), but like my own turning, circumstances prevented his turning to be smooth and delightful. It saddened me greatly, yet I could not help but be giddy when I buried myself with him deep in the ground.

I felt the changes in us, the connection growing deeper and warmer. I lay on his chest in the ground, he was so tall, and my arms held him to me. He was so cold, but so was I. I heard his body die with him and I felt the magic transform him into a creature of the night. I felt an overwhelming affection, much like what I felt towards Nasmah and I knew he had been turned.

On the third night, I rose just after sundown and ran to the nearest village to find the ripest and most handsome boy I could find. I tied the boy to a tree by my child's grave and could do nothing but wait until he rose. It was late fall and the days were becoming longer and longer, which suited me fine, because then my child and I would not have to hurry. I usually spent most of the summer in downtime, buried in the ground, because the nights were short in the north in the summer and longer in the winter. I felt him wake and a pleased smile graced my lips. He fought his way through the ground and rose with a dignified air. When he spotted me, he was puzzled yet very fascinated with what he could feel under his skin. He could feel his own power, a rare thing for a newborn power. They were usually consumed with blood thirst and gave no mind to why they were bloodthirsty in the first place.

'What am I?' he asked of me.

'You are my child,' I replied to him in his own language. I would teach him my own language in time, but he was still too young.

'And you are my maker,' he stated.

'What is your name?' I asked.

'Erik, son of Johan.'

'I am Godrik.'

I led him to the boy and showed him where it was easiest to bite. He did not hesitate and when I slid my hand down his front, I felt his pleasure. He startled at my touch, but the blood was too much for him to stop and push me away. He could not and I delighted in relieving him. He made the most delicious sounds, sounds I have committed to memory because it is still music to my ears. The boy died soon after of blood loss and I forcefully turned Erik around and kissed him. He was afraid of me that night, afraid of me and of what he had become and most important at all of how strongly everything felt. He did not understand my passion for him. He did not understand it for many years, not until, I think, the day he saw the beautiful blonde girl for the first time.

I taught him all I knew. I taught him sex, yet I could not allow him to love women. I could not bear to see him with them. I had always had such contempt for women and I could not understand why he could desire them. It was his only fault, his worst fault, because on all other matters, he was perfect. I brought him to Rome, and though it had lost much of its greatness, the streets I had once lived in so many years ago, where still there. Many remembered me and asked what had happened to my coven. I had not heard from them in many years and it did not bother me as much as it should. We would find each other when the time was right. Vampires always do. I let Erik loose in the city and he enjoyed it, but at the end of the night, he would always come back to me and I would kiss him and lead him to bed. I was much older than him and could stay awake roughly an hour after the sun had risen. During these times I would whisper words of devotion and love to him, words he would never hear.

'Min elskede. Intet er så smukt og brutalt som dig. Du er mit alt, mit eneste ene. Du er alt jeg behøver, alt jeg har ønsket mig og alt hvad jeg behøver. Jeg vil lede dig igennem alt og stå ved din side i alt. Min elskede.'

Even though I had become rather civilised for my age, there was still a savageness in me I could not qualm. I still enjoyed the mindlessness of killing and the blood and gore of war. Erik came home one night and told me the Vikings were dying out and had become Saxons instead. We decided to join the Saxon army to honour Erik's heritage. He was sad his religion was being forgotten and the glory days of the Viking was ending. I had seen so many beliefs and human civilisations crumple and die with their elders and I had no particular interest in his sadness, except he was sad and that seemed to be my weakness. We fought and lost with the Saxons and from my standpoint I could find nothing to be sad over. I had not grieved my family's passing or my own passing, while Erik mourned his children for many years and even I could do nothing to less the pain. Some may have considered it to be a weakness, but to me, he became all the more real. He was… he just was.

For many years after the Saxons final defeat, Erik refused to be nothing but a savage and only lived as a ghost at night. He was mourning his time and I did not mind. There was something fierce in being uncivilised and being the warrior I was, I did not mind the spacious way of life. During this time, he would only lie with me and I relished in the attention he was lavishing upon me. I could not fully understand the reason, but somehow I knew it was his way of saying he loved me. I could not grow tired of him and it seemed he could not grow tired of me either.

'Do you love me?' I asked him one quiet night under the stars.

We were both bloodied from feeding and the bodies lay close by. Their blood and death permeated the air and our fangs were impossible to retract, not that we had a need to. We did not need to hide at that moment and we did not. I lay on his arm and he was nuzzling my ear. Such intimacy between men was looked down upon and we could rarely do it in public unless it was in the company of our fellow kind.

'Yes,' he said without having to think. 'Why do you ask me such a thing when you know the answer?'

'I know you do not desire men as much as woman. Do you desire me more as a father than a lover, the way I desire Nasmah?' I said and I hated how my voice sounded weak. I had told him of my maker, though Erik had never met her.

He moved his hand away from under my head and was suddenly over me, both strong arms holding him up so he could look me in the eyes. I was so little compared to him, but it didn't bother us. He rolled his hips against mine and I let out a ragged breath that I did not need. I could feel him pressed against me hard and it brought reassurance with it.

'I may desire women,' he whispered in my ear. 'But they are nothing compared to you, älskede. They are nothing.'

With speed quicker than humans, I turned us around and I kissed him hungrily. The blood and our bond did wonders for my desire and we both took turns showing each other how much we were loved.

On what would become June 15, 1219, I was in Lyndanisse, fighting with the Danes for some reason I did not care for. I always fought in wars I passed by, but nothing gave me more pride than fighting for my countrymen. Erik had not wished to join this fight and left for Rome where I would find him when my thirst for war had settled. It was only the second time we were apart and I did not feel right without him by my side, making me irate and angry. When I woke the first day of the battle, we were wining, which gave me some pleasure. The second night, we were losing.

I glamoured King Valdemar's guards and strode into the tenth as if I belonged there and was pleasantly surprised to see Artemis, one of my brothers, sitting council for the king. It seems his child was no longer with him and I was saddened by the prospect that Erik would one day wish to leave my side, but it was the way of our kind and even I had left Nasmah's side, even though I loved her greatly. We greeted each other and King Valdemar was pleased to have such great 'men' with him. He said his men had lost faith in their war and they needed something to strengthen them, something to pull their last battle cry out. He had seen Artemis fight and wished Artemis to be that symbol, but I knew it could not be so. We were secret creatures, otherworldly and not heavenly. Artemis nodded towards his day protector, a shifter, who lay out a red cloth with a white Christian cross and told us this could be the symbol. It was burnt in the edges and suddenly I had a terrible revelation.

I had to go to ground before the symbol could be revealed, but Artemis' final words plagued me throughout the day. My darling sister, his beloved child, had been burnt at the stake and this cloth had been swept around her. It was a sign of God, her captures had said and now Artemis would meet the sun to be with her in Elysium. He could fly like my child and he would meet the sun flying towards the sky and letting the cloth fall. It would be a sign of God. When I rose again, the Danes had won and the cloth hung over King Valdemar's tent.

I raced the sun to see my child again, fearing for his safety if humans had somehow found a way to distinguish vampires from human, but I should have known better. Erik was smarter than most and would not have accepted being taken capture without a fight, a fight he would surely win. He had gone to Paris, but had left me a message in Rome to come and join him. I found him surrounded by woman and men all in various acts of bringing pleasure and I did not mind joining. I had not had this kind of release since leaving Erik all of five years earlier. He came to me, bowing in respect and I was expected back into his arms. I fucked away my grief for my brother and sister and vowed to find my maker and make sure she was faring all right. I could not believe I had not seen her for nearly four hundred years. It had felt so short and I thanked Erik again and again for being my child. I was a proud maker and lover and I could not imagine my existence without him.

'Min elskede, min eneste ene,' I whispered over his skin as I made love to him over and over again. 'Min elskede, jeg elsker kun dig.'

He pulled me up and I looked into his crystal eyes as deep as the ocean. 'Only you,' he said and we both fell over the edge and into the sweet rest of daytime.

End Part One

(6-10-10)

A/N: Keep in mind that Scandinavians generally use K instead of C and therefore it is more likely that Eric and Godric's names were changed to become more international when they moved to the States.

Historical event you might see are right with my own slight interpretation. The cloth that Artemis presents to Godric and Valdemar is the Danish Flag and it's said that when it fell from the sky, King Valdemar's army regained their strength to fight and won the battle. That is of course a well-known Danish myth. Balder is the Danish name for the Norse god of light.

I hope you enjoyed. I hope you'll review and please ask me anything. I'll be happy to answer.


End file.
